In Simulation

The new Matrix film is nearly upon us, and so my partner and I are watching all the previous films and supplementary material. An important part of this process is discussing the films after viewing, sharing the various revelations we have that we may have missed on previous viewings. It speaks to the quality of the original story that we continue having revelations and epiphanies even 20 years later.

My latest revelation is one that is raising some rather disturbing questions regarding the story and regarding how consciousness operates in our real world. I might even suggest it is a weakness in my previous arguments regarding consciousness thus far. The issue of what it means to be “in simulation.”

Of course, before I can even talk about being “in simulation,” I will have to discuss what a simulation is. As it turns out, trying to elucidate the idea of a simulation caused a rather heated debate between my partner and I. We cannot agree what a simulation is. And so, in this post, I will be primarily focused on my interpretation. I will try to share her interpretation, but the honest truth is that I don’t really understand her interpretation.

I have spoken before about identity and of the world. My identity is what I (and others) consider to be what constitutes me. The “I” when I say I. In some sense, my identity is what separates what is me from the rest of the world, and from others. Which brings us to the idea of the world. The world is that which is not me, and very generally what is not others. You are not the world, but you are a part of the world, just as I am a part of the world as well.

However, the world also includes that which is not a part of you or me. The world, in some sense, can exist without either of us. The world (we generally believe) can and will persist even when I cease to exist. Furthermore, the world contains objects that both you and I can observe and generally agree upon. We can both see the same objects, albeit from slightly different perspectives. And so, very generally, the world is the same for me as it is for you. At least, this is a significant assumption I make about the world. And I believe most people make a very similar assumption, even if they are not aware they are making this assumption.

A simulation is also a world, though not the “real” world. The world we presently inhabit, I believe, most will agree is considered to be the “real” world. This blog, this website, is a part of the “real” world. This blog is not necessarily a part of a simulation. Having said all this, I will acknowledge that as I continue this discussion, questions may be raised regarding the integrity of this.

A simulation is loosely based on the “real” world, and will be a lesser version of it. That is, a simulation will bear some resemblance to the “real” world in some way, and may even share some elements of it. However, a simulation will always be absent some of the elements of the “real” world as well. This is a large reason we will call it a simulation. A simulation, in some sense, is a straw man argument of the “real” world.

Like the “real” world, a simulation is governed by rules and laws. Or, as my partner has pointed out, perhaps not so much governed by as perhaps explained by. For example, in the “real” world there appears to be some sort of attractive force that acts upon all bodies. We often refer to this force as gravity. We even have various mathematical formulas we use to predict how gravity will affect various bodies, and we use science in order to validate these formulas as best we can. Gravity is a sort of governing rule of the “real” world.

A simulation can include gravity, though it does not necessarily have to. The rules of the simulation may be similar to the rules of the “real” world, or they may be vastly different. What both the simulation and the “real” world share is the fact that there are these rules or laws. Navigating a simulation can be done in a similar fashion to navigating in the “real” world; an understanding of these rules is what is required. If I understand how gravity operates (at least on some rudimentary level), then I can navigate through a world governed by gravity.

The point of all this pedantic examination is that a simulation will bear some resemblance to the “real” world. In the case of the Matrix from the films, the Matrix is a simulation that bears a lot of similarities to the “real” world. However, as the character Mouse points out in the first film, it is possible the machines (who created the simulation of the Matrix) could have either accidentally or intentionally made errors:

“How did the machines really know what Tasty Wheat tasted like. huh?. Maybe they got it wrong. Maybe what I think Tasty Wheat tasted like actually tasted like oatmeal or tuna fish. That makes you wonder about a lot of things. You take chicken for example, maybe they couldn’t figure out what to make chicken taste like, which is why chicken tastes like everything.”

While the machines may have correctly or incorrectly represented Tasty Wheat or chicken, the point is that these humans who are now discussing what their “single cell protein combined with synthetic aminos, vitamins, and minerals” actually tastes like are basing their assessment on information they have received from a simulated reality that they acknowledge may have provided them misinformation. In the end, in truth, they have no idea what their meal tastes like, only that it has a taste.

This is one of the critical issues with the idea of simulation and of simulacra. The information we receive from our interactions with any particular world are what we use to recognize and understand the elements of that world. This is the heart of the arguments made by the Empiricists of the 18th century; that all knowledge is based on experience. What they may not have concerned themselves with as much is the reliability of the world that provided them that experience.

Which brings us to the heart of my own discussion here. What does it mean to be “in simulation?” More specifically, what is happening when we are in simulation? In the story, when someone is in the Matrix, does their mind or consciousness or soul leave their body and exist within the Matrix? Or does their mind remain within their body, and the simulation is simply altering the interface one has with their world, hijacking their senses and replacing those experiences with alternate ones?

As I write these words, it seems obvious what the answer ought to be. In the case of the film, as seems to be presented, human minds exist in human bodies, and connecting to the Matrix does not somehow separate the two. A physical cable is connected to the brain stem, and all the sensory input normally fed to the brain by the rest of the body is replaced by alternative sensory information provided by the simulation. Morpheus rightly inquires: “What is real? How do you define real? If you’re talking about what you can feel, what you can smell, what you can taste and see, then real is simply electrical signals interpreted by your brain.” It does not matter the source of those signals, the brain will interpret whatever signals it receives.

The problem raised by the story is that if all of your senses have been hijacked, then you might not be aware that the world you think you are in is in fact a fabrication. You might be in simulation, and not know it. The issue my partner and I debated was whether one could be in simulation and still know they were in simulation.

The manner in which our debate manifested raised an even more insidious issue: where does one’s mind or consciousness reside while in simulation? For me, it seemed obvious: the mind continues to reside where it always seems to reside, in the body in the “real” world. However my partner did not agree. For her, while in simulation, the mind or consciousness left the body and resided in the simulation itself, inside the simulated body. Which case is true can have significant ramifications on events that follow.

As Morpheus suggests, the body cannot live without the mind. Therefore, the mind must necessarily remain within the body at all times, lest the body die. If this is true, then the mind remains in the body in the “real” world. But if this is how it works, then why would unplugging the cable that connects the physical body to the Matrix cause anything bad to happen? How did Apoc and Switch die? If the mind is always in the body, then disconnecting a cable should cause no issues for the individual, as their mind and body remain intact. Only the connection to the simulation is severed, which would seem to merely end the simulation for the individual. They should have simply woken like from a dream.

The alternative is equally problematic. If the mind in fact does leave the body and enter the Matrix, then the body is without a mind and ought to expire. Clearly, within the story, this does not happen. So if minds can successfully be separated from bodies, then Morpheus must be mistaken. Bodies can exist and continue without minds, perhaps on some sort of life support. However, if this is now the case, then how does anything that happens with the mind while it is disconnected from the body affect the body. How can the mind make real such things as injuries?

My partner and I did come up with another alternative that could explain what is going on. What if the mind does not entirely leave the body? What if the mind is sort of tethered to the body, so that a part of the mind remains with the body but a part of the mind enters the Matrix? This would resolve a number of issues, including how the mind makes things real for the body. This tether is what is maintained through the physical cabling that is connected to the brain stem. Severing the tether would be akin to lobotomy, which could then be severe enough to end a person’s life.

In some fashion, the mind is in both places at the same time. Both in the “real” world and at the same time in simulation. If we think of the mind in the “real” world and the mind in simulation as being two parts, then they could be considered connected like in quantum entanglement. I admit, this sort of view of the mind seems incredibly unsatisfying for me. It reminds me of René Descartes’s pineal gland.

In our “real” world, we really have very little understanding of minds or consciousnesses. What we can suggest is that minds and consciousnesses are very unlike bodies or other physical objects. One cannot crack open someone’s head and look at their thoughts. In fact, if you consider how a closed-circuit television (CCTV) system operates, there is nothing that guarantees that the mind exists within a body at all. The mind and consciousness could exist elsewhere entirely. Only the apparent localization created by the position of the various sensory inputs suggests that the mind ought to exist within the physical body.

Without the ability to experience what others experience, I cannot say much about experiences other than my own. What I can say is that when I have dreamed, I have had dreams where I was convinced that the reality of the dream was the “real” world. Only after I awoke from those dreams did I realize my error, and then acknowledged that the dream was in fact a dream and not real. I have also been so immersed in various experiences, such a watching a very engrossing film or a very intense video game, that I momentarily forgot that the world of the immersion was not the same as the “real” world.

In every case (so far) I can say that once I finished or left the simulation, I realized that it was a simulation. Once I had escaped, I felt that I knew with confidence what was “real.” But that only really suggests one thing: that in order to know that something is not real, I have to leave it into something that is more real. In other words, the only reason I have to suggest this is the real world presently is that I have not yet experiences a more real world.

Simulacra

It is time to elucidate my concept of simulacra. In reviewing Jean Baudrillard‘s version of simulacra, I realize that my perspective (while heavily influenced by his perspective) is probably not quite the same. My original intention today was to discuss his perspective, and then try to related it back to my ongoing topics. However, I realize now that the better approach is to discuss my perspective instead.

In short, for me a simulacra is akin to an imperfect copy of something whereby the original being copied no longer exists, and those who view the copy no longer realize the copy is a copy. There is a lot going on in this description, so I will break it down into parts and discuss each aspect individually.

The first aspect of a simulacra is that it is, in fact, a copy of something else. That is, at some point, in some distant way, the simulacra is related to something real. I will call this real thing the “original.” The original does or did exist. The original was a real thing, observed or experienced. The original is real, in some fashion.

However, the connection between the copy and the original is somehow disrupted. Perhaps the copy bears so little resemblance to the original that one is unable to connect the two together. Perhaps the original has been lost, through time and decay. Perhaps the original has been forgotten. Somehow, the connection between the copy and the original has been lost, so that the copy is all that remains to discuss, without an original to related it to.

The last aspect, which is critically important, is that the copy is no longer regarded as a copy. That is, for the observer, the copy is its own thing in reality. The copy possesses signification and meaning in itself without needing to relate back to the original. Without the knowledge that the copy is, in fact, a copy of something else, it becomes regarded as an original in its own right. This, for me, is when it becomes the simulacra.

This description belies a major problem: if no one knows the copy is a copy and is regarding the copy as its own original, real thing, then how does one come to realize it is a simulacra in the first place? After all, if we all believe the thing is real and original, then we would not suspect its dubious nature as simulacra. This is the point for me. This is the reason I consider the situation significant and in some sense malicious.

The best way to discuss this concept is going to be by discussing examples of simulacra. Due to their very nature, those examples I now present will be wrought with controversy. This will be because I cannot provide “hard evidence” to support my claims. If the evidence existed, then the examples wouldn’t be of simulacra, but instead of known artificial copies of things.

The example I most often raise in discussions of late is of gender. I believe gender is a simulacra. Gender, as I see it, is an imperfect copy of sex. Sex, being the physical description of a living entity, often incorrectly delineated as being either male or female, is a flawed manner used to describe certain aspects and traits of an entity. A male is usually considered to be the portion of the population that has the masculine sexual characteristics; in humans, this would include such things as the possession of a penis, testicles, and a significant amount of facial hair growth. A female is usually considered to be the portion of the population that has the feminine sexual characteristics; in humans, this would include such things as the possession of a uterus, ovaries, and a significant lack of facial hair growth. A problem should be apparent in such descriptions, as there are entities that can exhibit both or neither sets of characteristics. What sex is a person with both a penis and a uterus? I will not probe further into this inquiry, as my interest is in gender, but it should be clear that if gender is an imperfect copy of sex, it will inherit many of these problematic qualities.

Gender, as I understand it, is a way to clarify the problematic situation of sex. Gender, unlike sex, is not predominately focused on physical characteristics, though physical characteristics will influence an entities initially determined gender. That is, an entity whose sex is considered male, is likely to have their gender considered male as well. Similarly, an entity of sex female is usually considered of gender female as well. However, in our modern times, there are definitely those who are of sex male but of gender female (often a trans woman), and of sex female and gender male (often a trans man). One whose sex and gender match are usually referred to as being cis gendered, while those whose sex and gender do not match are usually referred to as being trans gendered. These are very broad descriptions, and I’m sure there will be those who can find fault with them, but I am trying to simplify something very complicated in my discussion to present my point.

In the ways I have described above, gender clearly has a relationship with sex. However, sex itself is problematic, and human societies have often attempted to reduce sex to a false dilemma in order to accomplish some, unknown to me, agenda. It will frequently be said that there are only males and females, and anything else does not exist. Sometimes it will be said that males and females make up the dominant portion of a human population, and the non binary component is in great minority. I do not know what to think about this, as I suspect the amount of the non binary population is far greater than we are led to believe. This is where gender steps in.

Gender, in its greater artificiality, can claim the false dilemma much more strongly as it is not focused on physical characteristics. To say one’s gender is male is to suggest that they possess certain characteristics that are expressed by their behaviors and temperaments. A man is masculine: he likes sports, he likes cars, he is loud, and he drinks beer. A woman is feminine: she likes children and small animals, she likes cooking and cleaning, she is quiet, and she drinks wine. These characterizations are just that: characterizations. They are also very much artificial. The descriptions of man and woman a century ago would likely be quite different. In fact, the description I just provided is technically about 30 years old, as the current descriptions are likely different still.

When you hear someone tell another to “be a man,” you are witnessing the called individual being shamed into conforming to whatever the currently established characterization of “man” is. Perhaps he isn’t fulfilling his responsibilities, something a man would do. Perhaps he isn’t drinking beer. It could be any number of things. Similarly, to be called “a woman” bears similar connotation. This sort of shaming is highly suggestive of the source of gender. Unlike sex, where the source of the description is focused on physical characteristics which are incredibly difficult to alter, with gender, the source of the description is on aspects that should be relatively easily changed.

For example, my friends told me that I ought to enjoy drinking beer as I am considered of gender male by them. I do not like beer, and regardless of the expectations put upon me, I refuse to consume it. In an attempt to get me to consume it anyway, I was told by one of them that no men really like beer, they just learn to like it over time. Whether he was correct or not, I believe he was attempting to get me to conform to the established description of the gender I am supposed to belong to. It wasn’t important whether my personal preferences or characteristics actually matched my gender assignment, what was important was that I conformed to it anyway. As one who has gender male, I am supposed to like beer; if I happen to not like beer, I need to change until I conform to my assigned gender.

The problem with gender is that it is not a reflection of my attributes, it is a guide to the attributes I ought to possess. Sex, it can be argued, is at least reflective of a reality: I have physical characteristics and my sex is a reflection of those characteristics. Gender, on the other hand, is an established set of characteristics I am meant to adopt as my own. Those of gender male are supposed to like beer, therefore I ought to learn to like beer. If I do not demonstrate a liking for beer, then I am to be shamed and pressured until such time as I start to exhibit those desired traits.

This is how gender becomes a simulacra. It is not actually associated to a reality. I never liked beer. If one goes far enough into history, before there is a history that we can properly trace, can it be shown that men have always enjoyed beer? What about before beer even was invented? The gender of male became associated with the liking of beer through the ages, by mechanisms I know not of. To be a man means to like beer. To drink beer is a manly thing to do.

I have focused on this one aspect and example, but I hope it is clear this applies to so many more. Like how the gender of woman includes such characteristics as wearing make up, dresses, and liking to cook. If a woman today does not exhibit these characteristics, she is shamed and pressured until she does. This is how human society works.

Therefore, gender is something that is an imperfect copy of something else (sex), but has lost its connection to the original (it no longer reflects a reality, instead creating a reality). Gender is its own thing. Gender is itself real, and we are meant to conform to it. But gender also does not reflect any sort of reality itself. Think about it. How does one’s fondness for a beverage relate to anything about that person, other than their preferences. One cannot say that a person who likes beer is also a person who likes cars; to do so is to perform a stereotyping upon the person. Like relating the hue of one’s skin to their intelligence, it makes absolutely no sense at all.

In these ways, I believe gender is a simulacra, and an insidious one at that. After one is born, they are assigned a sex based on their characteristics. Immediately after this assessment is made, their gender is assigned to match their assigned sex. And it is their gender that is used to instruct that individual’s upbringing. They are trained and conditioned to like wearing dresses if female, or pants if male. They are trained to cut their hair short if they are male and long if they are female. They are trained to fix machines if they are male and raise babies if they are female. Wearing blue if they are male, and pink if they are female.

I hope this all makes sense so far. In my next post I will bring social media into this mess, and try to demonstrate how social media is also a simulacra. How individuals who create profiles of themselves (copies) in social media, end up trying to reflect their profiles instead of allowing their profiles to be a reflection of themselves.

What is “Real?”

Before I can really dive into simulacra and social media, I need to take a moment to discuss something I brought up in my last post. The challenge to determine what is “real.” While I may want to believe this should be obvious, as the last post suggested, this is not the case.

I will begin by lumping some other ideas in with this idea of the “real.” There is the idea of what is “true.” There is also this idea of what is “I,” the pronoun used to describe what I consider to be myself. These ideas all have something very much in common: while I feel confident I have a solid grasp on them, so that I use them constantly in my day-to-day life, it turns out when pushed, I cannot for the life of me explain what exactly they are.

In the case of “I,” it seems like what makes up me is what is not outside me. That is, if I assume the existence of the world, then I am not the world. If I suggest the universe is made up of me and the world, then I might suggest that I am the part of the universe that is not the world, and vice versa. However, this quickly devolves if I considered how my body sheds cells and molecules constantly. I consume parts of the world, taking them into myself and using those pieces to generated more of myself. Later, I will shed parts of myself and those pieces will again become part of the world. I am my own personal Ship of Theseus, bringing with it the same challenges to identity.

This line of reasoning holds until I raise the question of the unmeasurable. That is, if all that I am is these molecules, the billions upon billions of them that constitute my cells and body parts, then the Ship of Theseus thought experiment seems to hold true. However, what if there is something more? What if there is a part of me that is not merely these molecules, something unmeasurable? Then what is me may not be as simple.

The intention of this post is not to focus on identity issues, so I won’t dive any deeper into this topic for now. But I hope my point is clear. To explain myself in a way that is clear, to describe myself in a way that delineates me and only me, and not anything else, is quickly becoming a rather challenging endeavor.

The idea of what is “true” is similarly challenging. For my discussion, trying to explain what is true has a strong linkage to what is “real” as well. In fact, part of what I believe most people would want to say about truth has to do with what is real. The explanation I chose to go with in my previous post was to suggest that truth is in some way matching up with how reality is, and reality is what matches up with what we all, collectively, agree to.

That last statement probable raised some hairs, so I will elaborate more. When I utter something, you will likely want to say that what I’ve uttered is true or false, but how do you decide? If possible, you are likely to look to your world and verify my claim, comparing it to your experience of the world. If I suggest that the sky is blue, you will look to the sky and see for yourself if the sky really is blue. If it is, you will say that I uttered a truth. If I instead said the sky was green, you are likely to suggest I uttered a falsehood, as the sky is not green.

Immediately there is a problem with all of this. For a truth assessment to be made, there needs to be something to assess the statement against. Something like facts and evidence. However, there are many, many things I might utter that you will be unable to verify in any way. For example, if I utter “what I see when I look up at the sky appears green to me,” you will have no recourse. You cannot say whether that statement is true because you have no access to my experiences. You could look at the sky and compare your experience to mine, but that would not tell you if my statement were true or not. It would only provide you a possible correlation to my experience.

This is where the idea of “my truth” comes from. The idea is that my perspective on the world, and my experience of the world, is mine and mine alone. No one else can experience the world as I do, and so what is true for me is indisputable. It is my truth that the sky appears green to me, and no one can verify my claim either way. And there are a great many better examples I can give than simply my experience of the sky.

This brings us to the idea of the “real.” For me, what counts as real is a personal experience. I assess when reality is real, and when it is not. This is not to say I cannot be deceived or make errors in my assessment; only that it is ultimately up to me what makes up what is real. What is more, if I do make an error, I have to come to the conclusion that I came to an error on my own; no one can tell me I made an error. To be more accurate, others can tell me I made an error, but I will not necessarily believe them; I have to believe I’ve made an error myself before I will see beyond my assessment of the real.

It is a messy business determining for one’s self what is real, what is true, or who one is. It requires a great deal of effort. It can even be painful. This is why I believe so many people defer these sorts of judgments to others. It is much easier to simply allow others to dictate the answers to these questions than to work tirelessly one’s self to determine the answers. This problem is further compounded when groups of people decide to collaborate their efforts together, often with an aim to convince those around them to their side. From what I’ve seen, this appears to be the job of main stream religions, as well as modern commercialism.

I hope that it is apparent to you at this point that I have spoken very little about science and the universe. Not that these things are unimportant, especially in a discussion about what is true or real. What I want to emphasize here is that what science tells us about what is true or real is unfortunately quite biased. And this is what also brings us to Jean Baudrillard‘s simulacra.

I will go into much more detail regarding simulacra in my next post. For now, I will simply say that a simulacra is something like an imperfect copy. Initially, the copy is of something real, but over time the copy no longer refers back to the thing copied. Where there may have originally been a linkage between the copy and the real, no linkage exists any longer. Like if you photocopied a piece of paper over and over repeatedly; eventually what came out of the photocopier would not look at all like the original.

The significance of the simulacra with science is the very same. Science is a process. It was first used long ago by the likes of Aristotle, nearly 2500 years ago, though he never used the term “science” back then. Science is about taking something, like a procedure, and repeating that procedure endlessly. To run an experiment, and to see what the result is. If I run that same experiment repeatedly, do I get the same result each time? How about if others run the same experiment I did, do they get the same result? It is about agreement and consistency. And it is about reality.

However, if you and I and many other people all run this same experiment and we all observe the same results, does that mean we have found a truth? Does it actually tell us something about reality? It was believed that all swans were white for a very long time, until one day a black swan was discovered. It was believed that the Earth was flat for a very long time, even when there were people out there fighting to suggest it was round. It is interesting to me that even today, there are still people who argue that the Earth is flat.

If one follows pure logic, and deductive reasoning, one can feel very, very confident in the results of such experiments. If I assume that Socrates is a man, and that all men are mortal, then I can be very, very confident that Socrates is mortal. However, note that I made 2 important assumptions at the outset: that Socrates is a man, and that all men are mortal. Were either of these assumptions shown to be untrue, my conclusion suddenly looses its veracity.

Science, like so many things, begins with assumptions. So long as we can agree that those assumptions are good assumptions, then what follows can be trusted. But we cannot prove an assumption. Circular reasoning cannot be used. To say that God exists because it is stated so in the holy scripture that He Himself wrote is circular reasoning; the evidence neither proves nor disproves his existence. It simply provides no meaningful information.

What is real is an assumption. It is clearly a critically important assumption that we all must make. Even if we do not do so consciously, our actions and choices will be a reflection of that assumption. When I walk across the floor of my kitchen, I have assumed that the floor is a real thing, trusting it to support my weight and allow me to get to the door I wish to go through. I’ve made the assumption, even if it isn’t obvious.

This is the key to everything, in my mind. Not to suggest our assumptions are necessarily bad assumptions; but to recognize that we are making assumptions. When we fail to recognize the assumptions we make, we mistake confidence for certainty. We take something that we are 99% certain about and make it into something we are 100% certain about. In general, this may not seem like a dangerous choice to make, but if we continue to make this assumption repeatedly, over and over, taking the results of one experiment as the assumptions of the next, we will end up with something that does not match up at all with the original. We will end up with a simulacra of reality.

I have this “thing” I call consciousness

Today, I want to talk about something that I honestly don’t really know how to talk about. When I think about who and what I am, I often strip myself down to this “thing” that I call consciousness. However, the use of the term consciousness confounds precisely what the thing is I’m trying to describe. I will attempt to clarify what I’m talking about here.

What makes me “me?” If I grant that the world is at least partially deterministic—that the world, much of the time, follows a chain of events where one event will generally be responsible for the coming about of another event—then I would expect a part of who I am to be a result of various events that came before me. My parents got together and produced offspring, of which I was the first. My genetic material came from them, so I am in some way a part of my parents physically. Furthermore, during my early years, my parents taught me many things about the world, attempting to prepare me for a time when they would no longer be around. That training is also a part of who I am; through habituation and experience I view the world a particular way and understand the world a particular way. They were a significant part of the outside influences that affected me growing up, and so I am in some way a part of my parents psychologically as well.

Further to all this, my time spent alive has given me opportunity to encounter much more of the world than what my parents might have liked. I’ve encountered many other people beyond my parents. I’ve encountered many non-human entities, such as the pets I had growing up, or other animals encountered in travels. I’ve also interacted with countless non-living entities, from pencils to cars to buildings. All of these things I’ve encountered have left their mark on me as well, in various ways. The impact of seeing the majestic beauty of a mountain, or even simply stubbing my toe on the coffee table in my living room.

All of these interactions, at least in part, make up who I am. Those that view all of these as the ONLY things that make up who and what I am would likely be called Empiricists, as the Empiricists believe that all knowledge ONLY comes from my sensible experiences. In a purely deterministic world, one that is entirely governed by chains of causes and effects, it would make much sense that I am only as much as I have thus far described. That I am akin to a very complex, biological machine that follows a very predictable pattern of actions and choices. Given enough information, anyone could determine what I would say and do at any time.

But there is something more. It is hard for me to describe, but there is something else (perhaps) within me that is beyond simply these genetic and environmental aspects. Stuff happens in my mind. Even as I type these words, within me I am thinking about what I what to write, reasoning out the order of the words as well as why I want to use these words. It might be argued that this is still deterministic in nature, but it seems to be beyond simple sensible experience. Within me, I have done something with the experiences I have received and turned them into something else. If I consider that part of me that is processing all this information from my experiences to be “me,” then I might be considered following the Rationalists, who suggested that true knowledge comes from reason and reason alone. If this were true, then who and what I am would likely more closely align with my mind, and could be conceived with the absence of my body. After all, I am simply the processing part of this experience machine.

When I consider these views, I think to myself that there is still something about me that is not captured in either viewpoint. At least not entirely. There does seem to be a part of me that experiences the world, providing me with a lot of raw information that I can use. And there does seem to be a part of me that reasons, taking all this raw information and turning it into decisions and choices. But there is something else within me that I have an even harder time explaining.

Here and now, I “see” the world, like from a “first person perspective.” Sort of like the video games that have become so popular. I use the term “see,” but it is so much more. I hear the world, taste the world, feel the world. But more than that, I reflect on the world and on myself. I talk to myself, from within. Others cannot hear it, but I have an inner voice, that only I can hear. In addition to that voice, I also hear music as well. Patterns of sounds and feelings. I generally refer to this thing as being my consciousness. However, the term “consciousness” seems to be incomplete. For one, it seems caught up in the idea that I am awake. If I restrict its meaning to when I am awake, then I am no longer a conscious being when I am asleep. If that were to be a requirement of consciousness, then when I am asleep, I am no longer a conscious being; during that time, I am something less.

It is possible that I am hoping for there to be more to it. It is possible that there is not. Perhaps when I am asleep, there really is no me to speak of. And then, when I wake up in the morning, I come to exist once again. Or perhaps, as CGP Grey suggests, “every night’s slip into unconsciousness, the warm embrace of the Reaper, and every morning the first and only day of a new creature’s conscious life,” here suggesting that my consciousness ends each night, and the consciousness that comes about each morning is simply a unique consciousness that perhaps resembles the previous consciousness, but is in fact something altogether different. His “The Trouble with Transporters” YouTube video is, in my opinion, the best discussion of this topic ever, and I highly recommend taking a moment to watch it (https://youtu.be/nQHBAdShgYI).

Taking all this seriously, I have come to the conclusion (for now) that this thing within me, that I generally call consciousness, is something akin to fire. I talked about this briefly in my previous post entitled “I am not solid.” That my consciousness is not a monolithic, nor static, thing but something fluid and dynamic. I do not think it is a coincidence that many ancient philosophers, such as Heraclitus, held that fire was a fundamental element involved with much of what we are. If I am correct, then the consciousness I now presently possess is the equivalent to a raging bonfire, made up of a massive amount of these smaller atomic consciousness elements, while when I am asleep, it is equivalent to the glowing embers of coals, made up of a very small amount of smaller elements. Furthermore, this would suggest that consciousness could present itself in larger and smaller forms, such as perhaps a lesser consciousness within a non-human animal like a dog or a cat. That these “lesser” beings have a consciousness comparable to our own, yet not the raging bonfire, but perhaps more like the ample campfire used to cook marshmallows on.

This seems (to me) to be consistent with my interpretation of how my dreams have operated. That while dreaming, where I may not be aware I am dreaming, the world and my faculties seem to be diminished. The best example of this occurred when I was quite young, when I had a very strange nightmare. In the dream, I had no sensory input; I did not see anything, hear anything, taste, smell, or feel anything. Furthermore, I could not remember anything from moment to moment, my memory lasting all of a second perhaps. The entire dream was me saying to myself (using my inner voice), “who am I,” followed by “where am I.” Unfortunately, after saying one phrase, I would forget having said the other phrase, so I would repeat the other. The entire dream was simply me saying “who am I,” then “where am I,” then “who am I,” then “where am I,” over and over again. Only once I awoke did I remember everything that had taken place. I could not tell you for how long I was in this insane loop, but it was for quite a time. This happened before I was 5 years old; it probably illuminates a lot about how I have come to be as I am today.

In other dreams, while dreaming, I would not know or understand certain things, but upon waking up, I would recognize that I had been dreaming and would suddenly understand the things I could not understand in the dream. It seemed to me that I was able to understand things in a downward fashion, into the dreams, but not in an upward fashion, out of the dreams. Upon reading René Descartes and his discussions about greater and lesser realities (in his argument to how God must have imprinted his stamp on us for us to have a concept of infinity), it seemed to me that perhaps that is how dreams also work. That the dream is the lesser reality, and from the dream I can only understand the world of the dream and any other lesser realities than the dream. However, from a greater reality, such as when I am awake, I can understand the waking world, and any lesser realities such as the reality of the dream. If this were all true, then it is conceivable that there are greater realities than this one, where I in some way awake from this dream, into a greater world. It puts an interesting spin on the idea of an afterlife.

These perspectives given to me by my dreams and by my other experiences leads me back to this first person viewpoint that I have, from within my consciousness. I considered the possibility that it could be like a passive observer, like a pilot flying an airplane on autopilot, simply watching the plane fly. However, without any interaction at all, how would my conscious mind have any idea that the passive observer existed, after all there is no interaction in the passive situation. Thus, the observer must be at least in some small way active. There has to be an interaction between the observer and the consciousness for the consciousness to have an understanding of the observer. At least this holds in a world that is deterministic, where the nature of the interaction follows from cause to effect. If there was another method of interaction that allowed for the observer to be detected, then perhaps it is this other method of interaction that is taking place.

Unfortunately, I presently cannot imagine another way of interacting than through cause and effect. That event A has some impact on bringing about event B is to say that events A and B interact in a way. If event A does not contribute to the bringing about of event B, or the other way around, this is to say that events A and B do not interact. However, in the case of a passive observer, there is still an interaction. While the passive observer does not necessarily cause events to occur, the events from the world (through the body in some way) do bring about something for the observer to observe. Perhaps the issue isn’t whether there is or is not an interaction, but in which directions the interactions occur or do not occur. Both the passive and the active observer are in some way affected by what happens, as they observe what happens. The difference is then that the passive observer does not induce a reaction back in the opposite direction. And as my conscious mind is somehow aware that there is something like an observer, then the observer has induced something of an effect on my conscious mind. Therefore, it cannot be a passive observer.

I have made a lot of progress here, but I have also barely scratched the surface. The best I can suggest at this point is that this thing I have been calling a consciousness, this thing that is me, is some sort of an active observer. The question I might pose next, is how much does this active observer contribute to my conscious mind.

I am not solid

I was going to answer the question I posed at the end of my last post this week, but decided to deviate due to an interesting epiphany I had this week. It isn’t anything I would consider to be a monumental discovery, so much as an interesting realization. That I am not a single, unified entity, but really just a collection of smaller entities (that in turn are simply collections of even smaller entities, and so on).

Recently, I had a massage. Not the relaxing sort of massage most people will expect, but a therapeutic massage. If you’ve had one of these before, then you will know that it tends to be painful during the massage, as the therapist pokes and prods your individual muscle fibers and other bits. While the massage was proceeding, I realized precisely how much this therapist was focusing in on very specific parts of my body. I could feel the therapist feeling around a little in an area of my back, then once finding what she was looking for, pressing hard and literally manipulating the bit she had found. It felt to me like she was moving my muscle fibers to the sides and around in order to get them into better position. Perhaps in some cases, she was also simply massaging those fibers to loosen them up. Either way, I realized at that moment that she was objectifying me.

I don’t use the term objectifying in this case to suggest anything negative. Only to convey the fact that she was looking at me not necessarily as a person, but as a collection of parts. Specifically, my back was not the back of a person, so much as it was a large flat surface made up of skin and muscle and bone (and other things). She was focusing on finding a very particular muscle in order to manipulate it. While this muscle is technically a part of me, it was at that time not important that it was. That is, the muscle was simply an object to manipulate for a purpose. In this case, to improve my situation and make me feel better (eventually).

After the massage, I did feel much better. I was sore, but the pain I had in my neck and back was relieved. I felt like I was not so tight. I felt better. But I couldn’t dismiss this realization that I was objectified during the procedure. My body was simply a collection of bits and pieces.

I further recalled a bit of history about computer animation that related to all this. In particular, the difficulty with computer animation in making human beings look realistic. This issue has also been observed and experienced by various artists trying to capture the human form, especially painters. The problem that many now realize is that the skin is not opaque or solid. When light hits our skin, it is not all reflected away; some of the light penetrates our skin and then is reflected by the stuff underneath, like our blood, bones, and muscles. This is what gives us the particular hues that we have. Flesh colour is inconsistent, just as the bits and pieces beneath the surface of our skin are constantly moving around and changing. If you know what blushing is, this is a great example, where more blood flows to an area making it appear more red.

In the case of computer animation, in order to make a human look more realistic, the model of the human has to be more complete, with actual bones and muscles grafted beneath a skin’s surface. The skin, in the computer, is not entirely opaque, and whatever is beneath can be seen through. This also means that as the camera view changes, what is seen isn’t the same either, as different bits and pieces reflect light differently at different angles. Once again, the human body is not really a solid, opaque object, but a collection of smaller pieces.

I have often thought my consciousness is of a similar nature. That is, my consciousness is not some solid, uniform entity, but a collection of smaller entities as well. The best example I have to describe this is of the nature of fire. Think of a little flame on a candle. It is simple and seems pretty uniform. Then consider a roaring fire in a fireplace, or perhaps a bonfire on a beach. The fire is the same as that of the candle, only much larger and more exciting. The larger fire seems to be made up of smaller parts, perhaps like millions of small candle flames, all smooshed together. But they are so tightly packed, they appear uniform. The fire, at least in appearance, is a single entity, which moves and crackles and heats up the room. Of course I know that it can be separated into smaller parts; I can take a small piece of wood, place the tip into the larger fire, and then ignite the tip and pull it away. Is that a new fire? Or did I take a small bit of the existing fire and take it with me?

I wonder if consciousness is of this same sort of nature. Made up of tiny little bits of consciousness, generated by the cells of our body perhaps. Like the midi-chlorians that were made up in Episode 1 of the Star Wars franchise, perhaps consciousness is small bits that collect to make up a larger sentience. If this is true, then all the parts of my body may, in some way, contribute to the whole of my mind. Perhaps the nervous cells, especially those found in my brain, contribute larger bits of consciousness than the other parts, like my muscle cells. This could suggest that the link between my body and my mind is much tigher than René Descartes suggested in his meditations. Again, this is not new; there are many people who have questioned Descartes suggestion of mind/body dualism.

Ultimately, where this all leads me is to the realization that I am not a single, solid, uniform, opaque entity. I am bits and pieces of lots of other smaller entities, which seem to be also made up of even smaller entities, and so on. I am not one single thing, but a collection of things. If my mind and my body are simply a collection, where some bits can be added and others removed, without disturbing (significantly) the whole that makes me who and what I am, then perhaps I am not as static or unchanging as I might like to believe. Like the world around me, I may simply be a transient, flowing object, seen as a single entity only by convention and convenience.

It is interesting to think about, and it is always possible that it is the truth (as much a truth might exist). But I must be careful not to confuse the situation for the one that I find myself bound to. I am a part of this human world presently, with strange rules and customs that I am expected to maintain. Like brushing my teeth, or going to work, or cleaning dishes. I may be a collection of parts, but I also, at the same time, am a single unified entity, at least as is observed by society and those humans who exist around me. I have to maintain and recognize myself as a single entity most of the time. Or as one of my professors in university suggested, when I was having a bit of a crisis of identity, if I am not me, then who should he assign my grades to?